Penny For Your Thoughts

They decided to settle things the old-fashioned way, the way their Uncle Frankie used to do before pneumonia had killed him earlier that year: by flipping a coin. Frankie had always flipped a coin for everything, no matter how big or small. Leroy remembered one time his uncle even flipped a coin to decide whether or not to get married. The coin didn’t flip in his favor and, unsurprisingly, the woman he had been seeing packed up her slim belongings and was gone the next day. 

Now, Leroy stood in the parking lot of Smith’s Meat Market with his brother, Stuart Junior, who was waiting with his arms crossed. His brother was named after their dad, Stuart Senior, but he preferred to go by Junior. Everything in their family was a hand-me-down, even their names.

Leroy held the wallet in one hand and dug around in his pants pocket with the other. He felt around until his fingers landed on a penny—the grimy one that had lost its coppery shine and was now so dirty it was almost black.

He glanced at the year it was made, even though he already knew: 1952. That penny had spent 30 years traveling the country, passing from hand to hand until it had reached their Uncle Frankie so many years ago. He had held on to it until he took his last breath, calling it his lucky penny, though Leroy never knew why. 

That coin had seen more of the world than Leroy or his brother ever would. He learned a long time ago that fate wasn’t on his side, and he surely didn’t believe in a lucky penny. 

If it was so lucky, Leroy thought, then why did Uncle Frankie die with nothing to his name? Nothing to offer his two nephews but a pile of debt and a moldy trailer that leaked when it rained?

His parents hadn’t had much luck either, or they’d still be there. So, no, Leroy didn’t believe in luck, but he did believe in chance. That was why he was still willing to flip a coin to settle debates. 

“What are you waiting for?” his brother asked, impatient. His hair was sticking up in different directions on his head, making him look disheveled and a little bit manic. Leroy could tell he wanted to hurry up with the coin flip, but Leroy was stalling, chewing on his thoughts. 

He flipped open the wallet again, the one they had found in the parking lot of the meat market. As soon as Junior had seen it on the ground, he snatched it up and searched through it, looking for credit cards and cash. He’d always had a knack for finding things he wasn’t supposed to. 

There were no credit cards, but there was almost $300 of cash stuffed into the change pocket. Of course, Junior wanted to keep it, and Leroy couldn’t necessarily blame him. As two kids who basically grew up in a shack with their now-dead uncle, it would be nice to be able to buy a hot meal for once instead of a package of Smith’s cheapest bologna.

Leroy thought back to all those restless nights of rumbling stomachs, too hungry for his mind to find sleep. His mouth watered at the idea of a home-cooked meatloaf like the ones the ladies at church used to bring to Sunday Dinner. 

But it wasn’t right to keep the money, Leroy knew that. The woman missing it—Lucy Winthrop, according to the I.D.—probably needed it for something, he was sure. What if she had kids? What if she was in the market right now picking out a ham for their dinner? If they kept the money, would they be the reason Lucy’s kids starved tonight?

Leroy had told Junior right away that they should give the wallet to the store owner, Albert, and see if he could find the woman the wallet belonged to. It was the moral thing to do, like they always talked about in church. But Junior didn’t agree.

“Yeah, right,” he had scoffed. “You think Albert would give the money back? He’s just as poor as we are! He’d keep it for himself.”

It was true that they needed the money. Without Uncle Frankie’s checks, they had even less than they did before, which was saying something. But Leroy wasn’t sure that this was right the way to get the money they needed. So he suggested flipping a coin. If Leroy won, they’d turn in the money. If Junior won, they would keep it for themselves.

Leroy glanced down at the penny in his hand and ran a finger over the face of President Lincoln. In God We Trust, the coin said.

He decided he would pick heads. He heard somewhere that heads won more often than tails did. 

Junior was getting impatient. He blew out a puff of air and gestured with his hand for Leroy to hurry up. “We ain’t got all day,” he said. “What do you want, heads or tails?”

Leroy scratched his head, pretending to deliberate his choice. Finally, he said, “Heads, I guess,” with an exaggerated sigh.

“Fine,” Junior shrugged. “I’m tails, then.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced around nervously. There was no one else in the parking lot at the moment, but someone could walk out of the market at any second. Leroy knew it was time to quit stalling. He flipped the coin.

It flipped in slow motion against the steel gray sky as if time itself had slowed down. In that moment, two scenarios ran through Leroy’s mind. The first was a nice one: he had about $300 in his hand, on his way to buy some nice clothes and a train ticket. The train took him into the city where he applied for jobs at as many restaurants as he could. He knew he could be a great cook if someone would just give him a chance. 

That’s what he said in his interviews, and he got a job bussing tables. It was a lousy job, but he eventually climbed his way up the ladder and was promoted to cook. The money he made there was more than he’d ever seen in his life. He told himself he’d go back for his brother. Junior would be mad at first, but he would understand later down the road.

The scenario then melted into a different scene: this time, Leroy was handing Lucy Winthrop her wallet in the meat market. She thanked him, her eyes full of tears, then offered him a ten-dollar reward, which he took. 

Leroy and Junior slumped home with a bag of bologna, some bread, and a pack of cigarettes. Leroy spent the rest of his life working at Smith’s Meat Market, cutting up other people’s meat and cooking scraps for his brother. Junior never gained any working skills and couldn’t help pay the bills. It wasn’t his fault—he never learned—but should Leroy be punished for that? Doomed to a lifetime of slicing meat for minimum pay?

The door to the meat market tinkered open, snapping Leroy back to reality. The coin sped up in the air, then made its descent. Leroy caught it, slapping it on the back of his hand, then took a peak at it.

“It’s heads,” he said to his brother. Junior mumbled a curse word under his breath, then kicked some rocks and stalked off. Uncle Frankie had always said that whatever the coin says, goes. 

Leroy stood by himself and watched as a young woman exited the market, shaking her head and patting her pockets. She went over to her car and got inside. It was a nice car—a Honda Accord. A family car. 

She didn’t leave right away, but rather seemed to be looking for something. Leroy pocketed the penny, the one that had actually landed tails up, and then opened the wallet one more time.

  He looked down at the photo on the driver’s license, memorizing the woman’s face and name. He would need to thank her one day.

Then, Leroy grabbed the money, put it in his other pocket, and placed the wallet back on the ground. He spun on his heel and headed off in the direction of the train station, but then a thought occurred to him.

He turned around, walked back to the wallet, then slid the grimy old penny inside the change pocket before turning to leave once more.